That Elusive Silver Thread
by Eleazar878
Summary: Redemption. It is that elusive ideal that many search for and many claim to hold its key. But what is it? Amidst the cares and affairs of this busy world, where can it be found? And just what does it look like when it is genuinely present in a life?
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note: **I do not own the copyrights to the Bible.

**Pandora's Last Legacy**

Hard, blackened land

Covered in grayish ash

. . .

Forsaken husks tear into an

Eternal veil of misty shades

Wreckages that were once trees

. . .

There was once life here.

. . .

Unending barrenness of land

. . .

Ravaged by fierce winds

Howling in their deafening anger

Echoing in their haunting sorrow

. . .

Never quite reaching that

Crimson sky ever so distant

. . .

There is now desolation.

. . .

A black husk towers above all else

Proud and alone in obscurity

Silent sentinel of emptiness

. . .

Perch for forlorn bird of dusty brown

Tiny gray beak opens to a

. . .

Penetrating, silvery cry of

Gentle and obscure hope

. . .

There may yet be life here.

**Author's Note:** So, here is the introduction to a short collection of poems I am planning to post. It's theme is redemption, that elusive silver thread that so many seek but few truly find. In this poem, there is no redemption yet, but there is the faint whisper of hope for redemption, the last and greatest legacy of Pandora. Redemption will come soon. Thank you for taking the time to read this small thread of a story as told in poetry. There is not much here to review, but any feedback will be welcomed!


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Note:** I do not own the copyrights to the Bible.

**11/30/13: **Here the second poem in this collection. For those who might have looked at this before, this particular poem was posted earlier as the first chapter, but I decided that another poem fitted better in the first chapter as a type of introduction so you are welcome to go back and read it. Also, I did not care for the formatting since I had no idea how to do a line break between stanzas. So, I figured that I would just improvise. Hopefully, this layout is easier on the eyes and a little more organized. Now, I present to you the tale of a wanderer and the journey he takes, as told in metaphor.

**A Wanderer's Tale**

Places I've been, people I've seen,

Like the scenery drifting past me

On this river I travel of peace and chaos,

That which I call my life.

. . .

Abundant meadows, desolate desert,

Laughter and weeping, joy and sorrow,

Sometimes valleys, sometimes mountains,

One after another on this winding road.

. . .

Amidst life's brilliant grandeur,

An unspoken wistfulness lurks,

Yearning for a home of distant dreams,

A refuge amidst ever-changing currents.

. . .

So a distant traveler I have become,

Once here, then there, never again here,

Ever running towards elusive dreams,

Will-o-the-wisp of strange lands.

. . .

Ever seeking but never finding,

Cursed child driven by wanderlust,

Never to be content in lofty palaces

Nor in humble abodes.

. . .

A fool, some have sneered of my wandering ways,

Blind to all but destructive urges

Succumbing to mere shadows of desire,

Heartsick for that which could never be.

. . .

Perhaps they speak the truth,

But by such elusive pursuits I stand,

And I walk, step by step,

Until all roads have been trod.

. . .

Though there are many roads,

Far too many to count, far too many to see,

Far too many to travel upon,

Those roads are all I have.

. . .

Once upon a time, I ran,

Greedy eyes frantically roaming,

Hands eagerly touching,

Feet ever pounding.

. . .

Then I began to grow weary,

And so I walked,

Through mountains and valleys,

Never daring to stop.

. . .

Here I am now, a traveler who ever walks,

Here I shall still be, an observer who ever seeks,

Here I always was, a thinker who ever questioned,

What I may yet be, I fear.

. . .

I fear that I grow ever more weary,

That I may one day stop walking,

Till I cease to even stumble,

A cripple upon dusty trails.

. . .

But this I remember from distant past,

A mother's gentle smile, a father's strong shoulders,

A family that once held me up,

A home I once called my own.

. . .

In that family, there was spoken of a God,

The Father from Heaven above,

Who sent His beloved Son

To deliver us from our folly.

. . .

And I think I can recall,

That maybe that Son, Jesus was His name,

Promised an everlasting home,

If we would but follow Him.

. . .

These are but mere figments of memory,

Ramblings of religious zealots,

Stubborn, ever so passionate declarations,

By those naïve of life's journeys.

. . .

But sometimes such foolish words,

In moments when unspoken yearnings burn

And uncertain fears torment,

Rise from their murky depths.

. . .

In those moments I wonder,

Can long forgotten tears flow again

To touch that barren ground?

Will something grow?

. . .

If silent fortitude should ever crumble,

Can a desperate cry rise

From a raw and broken voice?

Can it touch that distant sky?

. . .

Sometimes I dare to hope,

That should such miracles ever be borne,

A bloodstained cross might bridge that gap

From lowly ground to exalted sky.

**Author's Note: **This is a tale of the prodigal child, the one raised in a loving Christian home who rejected his (or her) childhood faith in a destructive search for an elusive enlightenment. However, that child, now a man, has been looking in all the wrong places, leaving him more hollow and worn out with each failure. With despair looming ever closer, he remembers the lessons from a home long forgotten and silently begins to wonder.

Personally, I just wonder if that home has forgotten him. Based on my own experience, I think most certainly not. It is extremely painful to have someone you dearly love, especially your own child, reject all that you taught him and instead choose a path that leads to destruction. It is even more painful to have to stand by and watch that child destroy himself by his own choices or to not know where he is and be left wondering for so many years.

The ending is vague on purpose. Will he return to the home he has abandoned? Will he return to the faith he walked away from? Or will he continue to reject both his home and his faith? The choice is his, just as it is for every other human being who will come face to face with this fateful choice. For all the prodigal children out there, just remember that there is a loving home longing for their return. Even if they have no earthly home to return to, there is a Heavenly Father who constantly longs for their return and would gladly make a new home for them here on earth and in Heaven.


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer:** I do not own the copyrights to the Bible.

**Warning: **This poem deals with the issue of abusive relationships in the form of emotional, physical, and sexual abuse. The abuse itself is implied, but I felt that this should be mentioned beforehand.

**To A Friend**

Dear Friend,

What you're doing is wrong-

_No, no, I can't start like that._

_. . ._

Dear Friend,

How are you doing?

I miss you very much.

It feels like I barely know you anymore,

Even though I still see you-

_No, that just sounds weird._

_. . ._

Dear Friend,

Why are you so foolish?

You have a choice, you know,

Somewhere else to go,

But you stay with him;

He always hurts you

But you still-

_No, she'll never read this._

_. . ._

Dear Friend,

I'm tired of you

And your lies

And the way you push everyone away

For him.

If he told you to jump off the bridge,

You would, wouldn't you?

You'd scream at him first,

Then he'll scream back at you,

Tear at you with his awful mouth

Until you finally submitted

And jumped to your death.

Even then,

You'd still shout at me

That I just don't understand-

_Definitely not, I have to calm down._

_. . ._

Dear Friend,

I saw you sitting in the park last night,

All alone, without a jacket.

You looked so, so, lonely

And miserable,

But just when I was about to reach you,

You looked up and saw me.

You left,

You left me,

You didn't even look at me a second time.

What am I to you now-

_Why am I even writing this?_

_. . ._

Dear Friend,

I saw that bruise on your head

The last time I met you,

And I have a bad feeling

That he forced himself on you

That other time

When you wouldn't say anything.

There was also that one time

With his car, when he tried to-

_This is pointless._

_. . ._

Dear Friend,

I have nothing to say to you.

You are a stranger to me now.

I don't care about you-

_Is that true?_

_. . ._

Dear Friend,

This is my, well,

I don't know how many letters I've tried to write.

I guess that I'm trying to say

Something, not sure what,

To reach for some wisdom that

Is obviously beyond me.

Quite honestly, with everything that's happened,

I have no idea

How I'm even supposed to feel,

Let alone think.

Right now, I can't make sense of any of it.

I just know that I'm breaking inside.

Maybe I'm already broken.

I know, I know, I've been told so many times,

And I've declared so many times

That God is in control

And His plans are for our good,

That He loves us,

But,

Well, I don't know-

_Ah, I'm just rambling now._

_. . ._

Dear Friend,

I don't know anything right now.

Before, it was so obvious

When he hurt you,

When you were hurting.

I heard you scream and cry

And your awful, heart wrenching silences,

The way you pulled away from us.

But now,

You're like a stone fortress

And I don't know anymore;

I don't know what's going on,

Whether he's miraculously transformed

Or if you've just gotten better at pretending.

I just wish I could trust your word.

It's just that you've lied so much recently

And I don't know if you're still lying-

_What am I saying even?_

_. . ._

Dear Friend,

I tried to write to you several times before,

But I didn't know what to say.

In one of my previous attempts,

I said that I didn't know if God was in control

Or whether His plans really were for our good,

And I didn't know if He really loved us.

That was in a moment of weakness,

But I've come to realize since then that

God is always in control

And His plans are for our good

No matter how it seems,

Because Jesus does love us.

That reminds me of that song I used to love as a young girl.

Remember how it went?

"Jesus loves us,

This I know,

For the Bible tells me so."

Everything seemed so much simpler back then, didn't it?

Still, that's true even now.

If nothing else, remember that

Jesus loves you.

Simple, you'll probably say cliché,

But it's such an important thing

That His love that is so freely given

Draws us to him

And brings us back home.

Speaking of love, I want to know

What is love to you?

Because I don't know what you're thinking anymore.

For me, right now,

Love is saying difficult words,

Doing difficult actions,

Because if you love someone,

You'll care enough to do it.-

_I do care enough,_

_Even if she doesn't want to be friends anymore,_

_I just can't not care-_

Love is not, it shouldn't be

So selfish and inflicting wanton hurt on you.

The person might make mistakes,

But they at least apologize

And they'll actually make the effort to change.

Is that what you have with him?

Is that what he shows you?

Just think about that,

If for no other reason than

For the sake of your old friend, please.

I'll be praying for you.

Love,

Your Friend

**Author's Note:** This poem is for the loved ones of those who suffer in abusive relationships. I do not in any way intend to demean the actual victims of the abuse, but it is also difficult for their close family and friends to have to watch them go through all that and the ongoing experience takes a painful emotional toll upon them. As a result, they face a myriad of confusing emotions that can include sorrow, anger (at the abuser, themselves, and sometimes even the abused), and despair at different times. This is the chronicle of those emotions and thoughts. There is no redemption for the narrator or her friend through an end to the abuse in this poem, but the narrator is granted Jesus' perfect peace even in the midst of her turmoil. Thus, she is able to plead for her friend's redemption to Jesus and through the final letter to her friend. I guess this describes a point in time that is the dusk before redemption's dawn. Thank you for taking the time to read this and any feedback is welcomed.


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer: **I do not own the copyrights to the Bible.

**Warning:** This poem deals with the issue of emotional abuse of a child at the hands of his father. The abuse is implied as something that happened in the past.

**Dreams of a Shadow**

Darkness is falling,

An impenetrable veil

Descending upon gray skies,

Rain ever pouring as needles

Upon the expanse of black pavement

Over which a shadow of a man glides,

Disdain in every graceful step,

Sneering contempt in his whispering voice,

"_That's right, little rabbit,_

_Run, run as far as you can,_

_Like the coward that you are,_

_Pretend that all is okay."_

_. . ._

He is reflected in muddy puddles

Through my tearstained gaze

Into the depths of my muddled mind,

A bitter ghost of haunting past,

The echoes of a father

That I no longer wanted

Yet still desperately desired,

My dreams turned nightmare;

He is the specter

That now comes to torment

On these abandoned gray steps

Under this ominous sky.

. . .

I tear my gaze from his cold visage

Only to be met with the cold stones

Of a desolate gray fortress

That may have been a home

Once upon a time;

Beyond the tattered brown curtains,

An empty gray hallway gives way

To a faded yellow door

Trapped by rusted copper hinges;

Reality ever reflecting fantasy,

A sagging roof as the shelter

For a spirit falling in despair.

. . .

I look outward once again,

My father's image washed away

By misty waterfalls in gloomy darkness

Yet his velvety voice still echoes,

"_Little rabbit, little rabbit,_

_You could never learn to stand,_

_Only ever flinching away_

_From life and its challenges,_

_You are no child of mine, little rabbit,"_

Poisonous words even now cloaked in silk,

Narrowed eyes ablaze with amber malice,

Straightened poise fitting for a gentleman,

This I can clearly recall of times past.

. . .

But I am free, am I not?

Free of _him_,

No longer that fearful child,

But now an adult,

Ready to start my own life

And make my own decisions;

After all, even sitting on these steps,

Having not yet found a place to rest

In this stormy night,

This was _my_ choice;

Though I have nothing,

I also have nothing of _his_.

. . .

So then, why,

Why does his image haunt?

Why do his words linger?

Is the past all I can ever know?

They say that it is a cycle,

A vicious cycle from father to child

And child to grandchild,

And on and on it goes;

"Sticks and stones might break my bones,

But words will never hurt me,"

_Yeah, right_; words pierce through bones,

Their venom destroying from the inside out.

. . .

Here in this stagnant present I sit,

Unwanted kid now an adult

In front of an unwanted home,

Both covered in dusty vestiges

Clinging as a stubborn memory;

Unexpected company for a deserted house,

Refugee protected by ancient sanctuary,

Lost human and a lonely home,

We are mirrors for each other,

Broken shadows passing by

In this moment of silence

Beneath the piercing rain.

. . .

And in this moment of silence

I let my mind free to drift,

Long forgotten dreams of childhood

That I might have become a warrior of words,

A student of life, a bearer of the mighty pen,

Borne of that childlike wonder

At a strange and awe-inspiring world;

I dare to fancy myself that child just once more

And wonder that the sky's freely flowing tears

Should unite such unlikely companions,

Lost human and a lonely home,

Perhaps for an unexpected purpose.

. . .

Together, two empty hearts beating as one,

That from such companionship

New life might spring,

Healing thought to be impossible

Occurring before a disbelieving world's eyes,

Nonsensical dreams of childhood long gone,

But maybe, just maybe,

Such fantasy might be reflected in reality,

In stories of a man who dared to choose death

For that disbelieving world

And then dared to rise again in life.

. . .

Such stories as those linger even now,

Proclaimed as truth by those sidewalk teachers

Who dared to stand amidst life's challenges,

They who would lovingly declare,

"_Jesus died because He loved you,_

_He knew you were too weak to stand on your own,_

_Weighed down by sin and doubt,_

_So he took that weight off your back_

_When He died on that terrible cross,_

_And He returned to life_

_Just so He could lift you up for time eternal,_

_If only you would take His hand."_

_. . ._

In such words I dare to dream anew

Of a shadow of a man

(Only a shadow,

For what value could I ever hold

That even He might come in person?)

Gliding across an expanse of black pavement

Gentleness in every graceful step,

Tender love in His whispering voice,

"_Come to me, my precious child,_

_For I yearn to give you new life,_

_That I may teach you how to stand_

_And live by my perfect strength."_

_. . ._

Within misty waterfalls in gloomy darkness

Tears from a heartbroken sky,

I gaze upon his warm visage,

Eyes ablaze with resolute compassion,

Strong shoulders bent to bear the world's weight,

Scarred hands silently reaching out,

And I dare to respond with shaking hands

That He ever so gently holds

As He pulls me into a firm embrace,

Only then, through blurred vision,

I realize that He has come in person,

Fantasy turned reality in His arms.

**Author's Note:** Here, finally, is redemption in its entirety. Thank you for taking the time to read this poetry collection. Constructive criticism and comments are welcome, so please review!


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